


How You Know

by Distractivate



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Husbands, M/M, Sentimental fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distractivate/pseuds/Distractivate
Summary: It's hard to miss the double take from the man in a golf polo and shorts as he passes him on the way back to the store. David rolls his eyes and switches Patrick’s tea to his other hand. Normally, David would assume it’s his high-fashion wardrobe that caught the man’s attention. Today, he suspects it has more to do with the way he’s grinning at the blank space in front of him like he’s slightly deranged. God, maybe he is.Or, a few snippets of (mostly) marital fluff.





	How You Know

**Author's Note:**

> There are about 900 words of angst in this about caring for an aging parent. Everyone will be fine.

It's hard to miss the double take from the man in a golf polo and shorts as he passes him on the way back to the store. David rolls his eyes and switches Patrick’s tea to his other hand. Normally, David would assume it’s his high-fashion wardrobe that caught the man’s attention. Today, he suspects it has more to do with the way he’s grinning at the blank space in front of him like he’s slightly deranged. God, maybe he is. He hardly recognizes this soft, gooey person, this person who’s in love with Patrick. He’s been terrified to say it, but now that he has, it just feels… right. It feels really fucking right.

Patrick broke through his defenses a while ago. He’s known that for weeks. But today, somewhere between Patrick’s first “I love you” and his own, he realized that once Patrick broke through, he patched up the walls behind him as though to say I’m here with you now, in this protected space. And there’s safety in numbers.

It's still a little daunting because Patrick has always been sure of himself. It’s one of the first things that attracted David, apart from the obvious. He’s always been sure of David too, it seems.

It’s not that David is unsure about Patrick specifically, he’s just unsure how this works in general. It’s a question he’s had since he was a little kid, as he watched his parents bicker and reconcile and grow apart and grow back together and eventually find a love that was more bottomless than seemed possible, that was strong enough to buttress their family as their lives crumpled around them.

How do you know someone really will be there through anything, everything? How do you know they won’t tire of you and leave, or try to change you so they can bear to stay? How do you know they’ll still want you when you get old and achy and soft around the edges? Even if you’re sure you’ve found your person, can you ever really know?

“Except in my dream, I’m holding a nice cup of tea,” Patrick said, so David's getting the tea. Patrick knows a decent-sized chunk of David is terrified to be in love, and he knows David feels safe when they’re joking with each other around the truth instead of staring right at it, and there’s safety in numbers.

He returns to the store with the tea as another group of customers exits. Patrick takes his tea and busies his lips with a long, teasing sip, his eyes smiling over the rim of the cup. Once Patrick finally sets the cup on the counter, David kisses him. It’s softer, quieter than the one before.

“I love you,” David says, forehead to forehead. 

“I love you, too,” Patrick answers, a lot less carefully than he did that morning. David smiles, because it’s a scary thing to say, but it feels so very safe to say it here, to him. For the first time, David thinks this must be how you know.

\-----

“What about this one?” David asks, showing Patrick a picture on his phone of a vivid purple tux paired with a light blue shirt.

“For me or you?” Patrick asks.

“For you, obviously,” David says.

“No. Nope,” Patrick says, shaking his head as he returns to his book. “I thought you already ordered the other one.”

“Just making sure we consider all the options.”

David keeps scrolling. Maybe he can find an outrageous theme wedding next.

It’s part of a game David has been playing for the past few weeks, now that deposits have locked in most of their wedding decisions. A game where he finds progressively more ridiculous ideas to propose, just for the pleasure of hearing Patrick say no.

It’s an odd game. David will be the first to admit that. It’s just that there was a time when Patrick would stumble over his own desires to say yes to David. There was a time David was afraid to hear no, afraid that a no to something David wanted was a no to David.

That time feels far away now. David wears the rings Patrick gave him on his fingers, reassurance to the power of four that Patrick loves him because of all he says and feels and _is_, that he can trust Patrick’s no is simple and specific, not all-encompassing. When Patrick owns the more assertive, stubborn part of himself, it shows that he trusts David too.

“You know what, let me see that again,” Patrick says, using a finger to mark his place in the book and leaning over towards David’s phone.

“Oh, which one?” David asks.

“The purple suit,” Patrick says.

“Oh. O-Okay,” David stammers, tapping back on the browser a couple of times and handing the phone over as he tries to school his expression into a careful neutral.

“Actually I do kind of like this one. I think it could really pop in the photos.”

“Oh. This one? You, um, like the purple one?” David fumbles. It will pop, he’s not wrong about that. That’s just one reason why the suit is wrong.

“Yeah. I think I look pretty good in purple too,” Patrick says matter-of-factly, like he’s warming up to the idea.

“Mmhmm. You do. You do,” David says, petting Patrick’s shoulder. He studies the screen to try to hide his scrambling thoughts. “Although, now that I’m thinking it through again, it might-“

David stops in his tracks when he catches the broad grin on Patrick’s face.

“Oh, so this is how it’s going to be. This is the tone you’re going to set for the rest of our lives? Mocking my efforts to put together a beautiful wedding for us?”

“I love you, David. I love the suit you already picked out. I love that it was affordable, and I love that it’s already paid off. I love that I feel like myself in it. I really love that you’re going to see me in it on our wedding day and start brainstorming all the ways you might get me out of it before our wedding night.”

“Am I though?” David asks, trying to bite down on a wicked grin. Patrick’s giving him that full-body smolder he seems to have perfected recently, and god he wants to marry this man.

“You know, the one we already ordered was my first instinct.” David says. “I think it’s a good one.”

“Mmhmm,” Patrick replies, and then leans over to kiss him knowingly before returning to his book. “You have good instincts. I mean look who you’re marrying. Let’s trust your gut on this.”

David watches him for a minute, pretending to read with a little smile on his face now that he’s figured out the game. David trusts, not for the first time, that this is how you know.

\-----

David didn’t realize marriage would feel different. Before they married, David just assumed that the marriage would be a marking, an affirmation, of a relationship that was already fully formed, an assurance that it would continue. He didn’t realize it would make that relationship into something deeper and fuller, that it would remake him in the process. Sometimes, the way it feels to just be married, to live into this marriage with Patrick, to have made vows and plan to keep them… It catches him off guard.

Like today. It’s a nothing day. David had a stressful conversation with a vendor they’re not going to carry anymore and Patrick had to handle a return for a prickly customer. They were both a little on edge leaving the store. Really, though, it’s nothing dramatically out of the ordinary. Now that the store is closed, they’re sitting on swings in the park, awash in twilight, putting off the chores they have to do at home by refusing to face them in person. David’s sitting gingerly, trying not to rub his sweater up against the dirty chains of the swings. Patrick is swaying back and forth a little, letting his legs push him in both directions, knocking lightly into David’s hip. They’ve been laughing about a group of customers who came in from out of town, about Alexis and her latest drama, but really about nothing specific. David tries to put a word to the way this feels, to be present in this. A word other than simply _married_.

“You want to play hide and seek?” Patrick asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. Go over there by the ladder under the slide, close your eyes, and count to twenty. Then come find me.” Patrick gives enough of a suggestive eyebrow wiggle to quiet David’s protests.

David carefully checks the darkness under the slide for cobwebs and other vermin and then closes his eyes.

“1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8-” He hears him just before he feels him, the warm press of lips and then, as David’s mouth opens in surprise, a seeking tongue. David leans in, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck as he is pulled in to his husband’s tight embrace. By the time Patrick pulls away, it’s just the perfect amount of filthy to get David looking forward to the rest of the night.

He realizes he’s found the word he’s been looking for. The word is joy. Not the simple kind of joy that’s used as a synonym for happiness. This kind of joy is something else entirely, where the hard and the real of the day are wrapped up in and soothed by happiness. Present but muted. At rest.

David looks at his husband in the waning light, looks at the way the permanent lines have started to form at the corners of his eyes and mouth and above his brow from all the smiling they do together. It’s written there in those lines: this is how you know.

\-----

David wakes up before the late winter sun. For months at the beginning of their marriage, there was a little thrill of surprise to wake up next to Patrick, like all of this was too good to be true. Now when he wakes up to Patrick, it’s a different kind of surprise. He’s half expected to wake up to an empty bed every morning for the past two weeks at least, which is why he’s not surprised to find that he’s alone. It’s been almost a month since the pleasant din of their normal bickering tipped into full on arguing. David sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He drops one leg out of bed and uses its momentum to pull himself around so he’s sitting on the edge, toes just grazing the floor. He gives himself a minute to hang his head there in his hands, elbows to knees, and breathe. He’s been lulled, through the years of laughter and well-met challenges and love, into the security of believing that Patrick is his now, his forever. But maybe you never really know.

When he looks up, he notices the paper on the nightstand tucked under a bottle of aspirin next to a glass of water.

It’s a note in Patrick’s small, tidy letters: “Drink this. I’m coming back with coffee. I love you. Let’s try again.”

“I love you” is underlined fiercely, like he went back and forth with the pen a few times. So he’s not gone, yet. Patrick wouldn’t leave with a note anyway, much less without a word in the dead of night.

Patrick is back by the time David has brushed his teeth and attempted to right his hair. He pats a cloth over his face and makes his way to the kitchen. They’ve been married long enough that he knows if he doesn’t go to Patrick, Patrick will just come to him. He’d rather not have this conversation staring at their pained reflections in the bathroom mirror.

“One caramel macchiato skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder,” Patrick says. David looks at the to-go cup and feels his mouth tremble. It’s not David’s coffee order anymore now that he’s trying to watch his calorie intake, which Patrick well knows. The caramel macchiato is a reminder that they’ve been at this a long time, that Patrick has been _in this _from the start.

“Thank you,” David says carefully, trying to squeeze the tears back inside with his eyelids. Patrick sits at the round table in their kitchen and gives David a steady look, a little marital shorthand that says _please sit with me_. So David sits.

“I’ve been thinking about the marriage advice you always hear, about how you shouldn’t go to bed angry," Patrick starts. "I now think that’s terrible advice. I said a lot of stupid things trying to get to ‘not angry’ last night. I’m so sorry, David."

David sighs, tries to expel the tension he still feels up his spine. He wants a simple apology to be enough, but it’s not yet.

“I’m sorry too. You know I love your dad, right?” David asks.

“I do know that.”

“But having someone move into our home, especially someone that needs a lot of care… that’s a big change. I don’t even know how to process what that would mean for us, for our business. I wish I could just say yes. I know if the tables were turned you would-”

“I would feel just as scared and reluctant about it as you do,” Patrick interjects. David just shakes his head, not believing it. Patrick is made of all the best caretaking components from the build-a-human box. “I would, David. Just imagine if it was your mother we’re talking about.”

“Hm,” David huffs, the corner of his mouth angling up softly at the thought.

David wants to fold his arms up into his body, but Patrick reaches across the table, folds their hands together instead. It’s like every part of him is trying to hold David here to this moment – his warm eyes, the gentle curve of his mouth, his strong hands, trying to recharge their connection.

“David, I love that you always know what you want. I love that you’re opinionated. Even when it drives me crazy, I love it. But for big stuff… sometimes I need you to wait until after we’ve talked things through before you make up your mind. I need to know that you want to have the conversation, not just convince me you’re right.”

David tips his head back and inhales, trying to rest in this quieter, calmer morning and avoid ramping back up to last night’s frustrations.

“Can I make us some eggs and we’ll talk it through again?” David asks after a moment. “I do want to hear you out.”

“I’ll make us breakfast. I didn’t mean what I said about the cooking. I like cooking for you. For us,” Patrick amends hastily, looking disappointed with his mouth-brain connection.

David tries not to replay Patrick’s litany from the night before. Tries not to hear all the things Patrick says he would still have to do by himself if Clint came to stay with them for a while. It was a litany meant to demonstrate how little David’s responsibilities would change by outlining how few responsibilities he has around the house in the first place. It still stings like a sunburn from a cloudy day, unexpected and tender.

“You must have meant it a little bit,” David says with a wry smile.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m overwhelmed, David. I’m worried about my dad. I’m worried about us.”

“Me too,” David says, and then slides around to the chair between them, next to Patrick, to kiss his forehead where a deep, anxious line has formed.

“I like to do more around here, because you do more at work. But we’ve never kept a scorecard and I don’t want to start now. I really don’t,” Patrick says firmly.

“Okay. But what you said wasn't wrong, or at least a lot of it wasn’t. And I do hear you. So let me make the eggs.”

Patrick nods tightly and squeezes David’s hand before letting go.

David opens the fridge and surveys the carton of eggs with two survivors, the nearly depleted gallon of milk, and the lack of cheese and remembers he was supposed to pick up all three yesterday on his way home.

“Actually, eggs may not be the best way to show you that you can’t live without me. I can make a competent yogurt parfait if that’s acceptable.”

Patrick’s mouth breaks, the first full smile David’s seen in twenty-four hours at least, and David wants to wrap himself up in that smile like a long lost friend.

“A parfait is acceptable,” Patrick says.

As David begins putting together the granola and fruit and yogurt, he hears Patrick’s chair slide back and feels a familiar pair of warm arms wrap around him from behind.

“Just because I can make eggs without you doesn’t mean I want to, okay?” David nods through a ragged breath and lets his husband squeeze him tightly. “We’re going to figure this out. I’m not letting you go, David Rose.”

David wipes his tears and then squeezes his own arms forcefully around Patrick’s, fingers pressing urgently into the skin above Patrick’s elbows. He wants to stand in this steadfast hold for as long as possible, maybe forever. Because this is how you know.

\-----

David reaches across Patrick to toss the washcloth in the bin next to the nightstand, falling easily into his husband’s arms as he wraps him up in a long, sated kiss.

“Happy Halfway-to-Ninetieth Birthday,” Patrick whispers against his neck. David rears back as far as his arms will take him and glares at him.

“What?” Patrick asks innocently. “You just said I can’t say forty five today.”

“So you thought ninety would sound better?”

“I can’t help it. Us getting old and wrinkly together is all I can think about now that you have a little gray hair,” Patrick teases, scratching at David’s temple where enough silver hairs have begun to pepper the thick, dark field that there's too many to pluck out.

“You said you liked it,” David pouts. “Wait until you get some.”

“Oh I very much like it,” Patrick says, placing a firm kiss over the hairs in question. “And I gotta say, David, it’s nice to know that old as you are, I can still get those noises out of you when we fuck.”

“Well aren’t you pleased with yourself,” he responds rolling his eyes. There’s a little smile there too, though, because Patrick’s not wrong. “Although some of those noises may have been because my hip doesn’t want to bend that way anymore, so.” He nudges his nose against Patrick’s cheek. There are in fact gray hairs starting to sprout there when he doesn’t shave regularly, but David will let it go for now. 

“I refuse to muster any sympathy for this sore hip of yours until you get it checked out,” Patrick says, giving the offending hip a little squeeze as David nestles down into the sheets facing him.

“Ouch," he says with a pout and a little kick in self-defense. "I’ll ice it. I'm sure it will be fine in another week or two.”

“Well good. Because I think we might have to make what we just did a little birthday tradition going forward.”

There’s a beat where they just smile at each other.

“Remember that first birthday of mine we spent together?” David asks, quiet.

“Of course I remember. God I felt that kiss all the way into the edges of my toenails for days.”

“Ew,” David says, but he’s grinning. “Me too.”

“Still feel that way most of the time,” Patrick adds, a little bashfully.

“What, not all the time?” David ribs, because even after all these years he has to bury this swoopy feeling in teasing when Patrick says big things like they’re sweet nothings.

“Definitely not all the time.”

“And that doesn’t worry you, that you don’t feel it all the time anymore?”

“Anymore? I didn’t feel that way all the time then. If I needed to feel that way all the time for this to work, we wouldn’t have lasted three weeks.”

“Well now I feel like I need to rewrite our entire history,” David says with a scowl, rolling onto his back.

Patrick chases him, planting a sloppy reassuring kiss on his lips. He rests half on top with his chin in David’s sternum so he’s the only thing in David’s field of view.

“Hey. David. Just because my feelings get complicated by day-to-day stuff… I haven’t doubted you once since that first kiss.”

“Well it was a good kiss,” David says, looking sideways. He really should be used to this tender fondness by now.

“You’ve always been very talented,” Patrick agrees, nipping David’s chest before resettling on his side so they’re facing each other again.

“Is that when you knew this was it?” David asks. He’s surprised he’s never asked. Maybe he’s just assumed, because of how sure Patrick seemed from the start, that he knew the answer.

“No,” Patrick says with surprise. “I didn’t know then. I’ve never known. Or at least that’s not how I think of it. I just chose you. I choose you.”

“Oh,” David says softly. “I choose you too.”

David leans in, not too fast but with purpose. He waits for the slight flick of Patrick’s eyes to his lips. Then he cups Patrick’s cheek in his right hand as he kisses him softly, fingers sliding into the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. It feels warm and familiar and full of promises made and kept and broken and remade.

_I choose you._ And really, David thinks, that is the only way you know.


End file.
